


Fallen Jester, Shooting Star

by unluckyxse7en



Series: Star Allies Unite! [1]
Category: Kirby (Video Games)
Genre: Depression, Enemies to Friends, Gen, Kirby Star Allies, Kirby Super Star events are referenced heavily, Metadad, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Poyo - Freeform, Trauma, dad meta knight, everyone understands poyo, kirby speaks in poyos, ooc Marx where he definitely has ptsd, temporary character death mention, you cant keep this grape down m'dude
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:47:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27704356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unluckyxse7en/pseuds/unluckyxse7en
Summary: In the midst of the Jambastion's arrival, a certain jester comes back from the dead.No one is sure how this happened. Not even the jester himself.Alternatively: the possible prologue of how Kirby convinced Marx to help save Popstar.
Relationships: Kirby & Mark | Marx
Series: Star Allies Unite! [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2026217
Comments: 3
Kudos: 45





	1. Tomato bribery

**Author's Note:**

> Marx is going to probably come off as ooc here because this is meant to be the serious, heart-to-heart conversation that I think would need to happen before anyone would actually trust him enough to even begin to work with him. In other words... this is Extremely Self-Indulgent.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marx wakes up, not in the wreckage of Galactic Nova, but somewhere he never would have guessed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings:  
> Repeated death mention; some panic/anxiety/trauma flare ups, panic attacks; Kirby our good orb has been badly injured and is being nursed back to health

As Marx woke up from what felt like a very long, very deep slumber, he sat up slowly, trying to recall what he last remembered. It didn't take him long to realize that while he couldn't remember everything, he could tell that he had no clue where he was. His eyes widened as he took in his surroundings, his golden wings wrapping defensively around himself, shivering minutely from nerves as he realized he had no sense of his current location. 

The first thing he was aware of were stars, golden yellow and five-pointed, against a cushy blue sky. No, not a sky; a bed. The one that he currently found himself resting upon. Hesitantly, Marx lifted his eyes from the bedsheets, taking in the scenery a little more- a warm, ivory cottage room with a few homey decorations and knick knacks, a couch sitting on a round orange rug, a fireplace with a fire gently crackling inside its bowels... Where the dark is this? What happened? Last he remembered, he had been floating out in the coldest reaches of space, the only sense of warmth to be found in pinpricks of genuine stars too far away to do more than glimmer faintly like glitter in the distance...

As he became more awake, more cognizant of everything around him, Marx realized he wasn't alone. He locked gazes with a set of golden eyes sitting a short ways away, watching his every movement from behind a cold metal mask. Meta Knight. 

“Where am I?” Marx enunciated as clearly as possible, trying not to show any of the nerves he had just experienced. His voice wavered a little, but not enough to be noticeable, he hoped. 

"You're back on Popstar. Kirby was gracious enough to let you stay in his home until you awoke," Meta Knight replied neutrally. He sat on the couch a little ways away from the bed, sword at his side. On his other side, Kirby dozed quietly against him, the knight’s hand gently resting on his shoulder protectively. 

"Popstar? How in all of darkness did I get back here? The last thing I remember is just… just being out there in space, staring at all those stars.... All the stars around me..." Marx trailed off, his eyes unfocusing as he could see them in his memory, sparkling delicately, infuriatingly, so far away... 

Meta Knight said nothing.

"How long was I out there." 

It wasn't a question; it was a demand. 

"How long!???"

Marx's scream felt like it sliced through the stillness of the room, echoing in Meta Knight’s ears. Kirby, much to his relief, barely stirred against him. The hero of Dream Land needed all the rest he could get after everything that had been happening. 

Meta knight found himself hesitant to answer Marx, even knowing that staying silent would likely only prompt more hysterics. But with how agitated he already was… He certainly wasn't going to appreciate the answer Meta Knight had, either. Meta Knight reluctantly decided it would be best to bite the bullet, and answered. 

"... We're not sure. By the time Kirby found you, you had already somehow ended up back here."

"Not sure?" Marx spat. Oh, dear. 

"Not sure??? Someone tries to take over the entire planet, and instead is left floating out in orbit and none of you have a clue how long ago that was???" Marx's breath was fast, heaving, his eyes roving wildly around the room, scouring for any possible details that would provide a semblance of time. The closest thing, yet still no help at all, was a carved wooden clock ticking off the seconds from its place on the wall. 

Meta Knight sighed, not oblivious to the telltale signs of panic. It wouldn't be easy to tell him the truth - that there's little anyone in the room seemed to know about Marx's reappearance - especially while he was this distressed.Meta Knight kept himself distanced - cool in the face of such upset. This sort of hysteria was nothing new to him, and getting agitated would only make things worse, no matter how much he may have wanted to be less than accommodating of the jester’s tantrums deep down. Still, Meta Knight kept his composure, reminding himself to let cooler heads prevail on this one, at least until Kirby woke up. 

"Rest assured, we remember when you sent Kirby on a fool’s errand to make a wish to Galactic Nova. How could anyone on Popstar forget such a momentous time as when the sun and the moon waged war?" 

Marx glared back at Meta Knight, unappreciative of the barbs. Meta Knight ignored the scowl and continued. 

"What we don't know, is how you survived, or when you ended up back here. Kirby told us all about your death; it sounded quite absolute."  
Marx's angry expression faltered.  
Death? How could I have died? I'm right here, aren't I...?

Meta Knight could read the genuine confusion on Marx's face like a picture book as the jester’s expression flitted through the emotions. This… was going to complicate matters.

“Heh, you're kidding, right? Because man, your sense of humor sucks,” Marx forced a snicker, staring hard at Meta Knight as desperation wrote itself all over his face. 

Meta Knight sighed, and shifted out from under the still-sleeping Kirby, as carefully as he could, hopping down from the short couch. 

"Well, it seems neither of us have the answer to that particular puzzle; however, I'm afraid that - and you - will have to wait. Dream Land… no. All of Popstar has far more pressing concerns on its hands now, than the return of a fallen megalomaniac."  
He walked over to the single window in the cozy room, gazing out at the vast lush scenery beyond the glass, as evening gave way to night. 

Marx stared at Meta Knight’s back in disbelief, and growing concern. He waited as patiently as he could, which was precious little at this point, for further explanation. When he quickly realized he was going to be offered none, the panic began to swell in his chest once more, as much as he hated to acknowledge it. 

"What do you mean by that?? What's happening to Popstar?" He wanted to sound firm, demanding, but the waver in his voice turned it on its head entirely. Meta Knight turned to look at him, only to return to looking out the window. Marx tried to let his anger give way, to mask the cold fear settling into his core. 

"Hey, did you hear me??" He spat with as much venom as he could muster, to sound as entirely and wholly indignant as he wished he currently felt. Meta Knight, unphased by this, merely gave him another glance, before solemnly pointing out the window. Look. 

Reluctantly following the instruction, Marx hopped out of the bed and traipsed over to the window, grateful that Meta Knight moved aside to give him more room when he got close enough. Marx wasn't keen on the idea of rubbing metaphorical shoulders with him, or for that matter anyone in metal plate armor. Hopping up onto a nearby stool, vaguely aware that it was the perfect height for someone his size to perch on, Marx peered out, squinting to see the horizon past the evening sunlight. 

"What? I don't get it, everything looks f..." the sentence died in his throat as Marx saw the ominous silhouette in the distance to the Northwest. There was no word Marx could possibly find for it. It was enormous, and Marx admittedly couldn't believe that he hadn't noticed it faster. It dwarfed the mountain range, and in all honesty probably created new ones when it landed. At least it looked foreign enough to have crash landed into the ground, it was sharp and pointy, some sort of intricately carved golden metal construct rising up beyond the clouds. 

"What in all the stars is that," Marx whispered hoarsely, unable to believe his eyes as he tried to parse the alien shape embedded in Popstar’s humble horizon. 

"That," Meta Knight said, "Is the fortress of intruders who appear to have brought corruption with them. The Jambastion."

Marx stared at the menacing architecture in the distance, slack jawed, as he tried to process it. Corruption? How long had he been gone, how long had this been going on...? He wanted to know more, but was pretty certain Meta Knight wouldn't provide any helpful answers. The commander had already dodged all of his previous questions as it is. That left only one other person left in the room who could possibly tell him anything. 

Swallowing his pride, Marx hopped off of the stool, striding over to where Kirby slept on the couch, closing the distance fast enough to reach his goal before Meta Knight could react. 

"Hey, Kirby!!" He yelled, kicking at the couch frame. Kirby whimpered in his sleep, covering his face with a rounded paw. Marx ground his teeth in agitation, deaf to Meta Knight protesting behind him, and was about to try again when something stopped him. 

Marx had assumed Kirby was simply snoozing away like he always did, the loafer that he was, but upon closer inspection Marx could see the pink doughball was covered in injuries, cuts and bruises, and even some burns from the looks of it. Marx fell silent, unresponsive even as Meta Knight yanked him away from the couch by the base of a golden wing. 

"Don't you dare lay a claw on him, y--"

"Did those Jambastion freaks or whatever do that to him?"

Meta Knight stopped, startled by the unusually level tone from the jester. Marx had turned just enough to look at him seriously, moreso than Meta Knight ever had seen him. Hackles lowered by this unexpected shift in attitude, Meta Knight released Marx's wing and stepped back. 

"Yes. Their forces far outnumber ours thus far. Kirby fought valiantly, but we had to pull back for his sake."

Marx gave Kirby a sidelong glance as he took this information in. 

"In other words… He was on the verge of dying, huh." 

Meta Knight studied Marx curiously. After a moment too long, Marx sneered bitterly, baring his fangs at the sleeping form on the couch. 

"What a shame. It would have served him right." 

Meta Knight regarded him thoughtfully.

It would be easy to contest that statement, perhaps point out that it wasn't that simple anymore- if only because Kirby clearly had brought the jester back to nurse him back to health, make amends… Right about now, he felt that Marx should at least pretend to express sympathy out of politeness, in deference to this act of kindness and goodwill. but Meta Knight could sense that wouldn't be necessary. 

Historically speaking, the few times he'd seen Marx, he wasn't normally able to read him very well, but the jester didn't even seem aware of just how much his concern was showing underneath it all. Never mind that waking up in your enemy’s home after, for all intents and purposes, getting killed by him in space had to be quite disorienting as it was. Meta Knight quietly decided he would let Marx off easy, and let the comment slide. Just this once. 

“Shame or not, right now he needs rest. As I'm sure you do as well,” he finally replied diplomatically. Marx turned to face him, mouth open to protest, but Meta Knight cut him off before he had a chance to really get into it. 

“Can I interest you in a bite to eat while we wait?” He asked, producing a Maxim tomato that had been tucked away in his cape for safekeeping. Marx halted, jaw still dropped mid-protest, eyes trained on the juicy fruit. He forced himself to close it as he started to drool, but it was to no avail. As he took a cautious couple of steps forward, his jaw dropped once more, as if he was about to bite it right out of Meta Knight’s hand in one swift motion. Meta Knight would have sworn to you before all of this that Marx’s eyes couldn't possibly get bigger than they already were, only to now find that he would be proven so horribly wrong. Marx stayed stock still like that for a moment, perched on tippy-toes, eyes imperceptibly shifting between the prize, and the trap he was almost certain was currently watching his movements carefully. 

“How…” He gulped, licking his lips at the sight of the tomato. 

“How do I know you're actually going to give me that,” he managed, eyes glued to the succulent red flesh in Meta Knight’s hand. 

“Do you consider me a liar?” Meta Knight countered, tomato still being held up in front of him.

Marx hesitated. He didn't make it a habit of trusting people. But if there was anyone in all of Popstar that you could trust to be an honest stick-in-the-mud, it was Meta Knight. By the power of Nova, just weeks before Marx’s ill-fated attempt at conquest, Meta Knight himself became known across the land for nearly doing the exact same thing on account of natives of Dream Land not having good morals or whatever…! 

Yet still Marx sensed there was a trap to be had here… Oh, but he was so hungry…. and Maxim tomatoes were always such luxury foods, a rarity to find and often too expensive to buy… And here one was, just inches from his face, ripe for the taking…

Just as Marx broke, lunging for the tomato, it vanished from sight as Meta Knight abruptly yanked his hand away, allowing the jester to fall flat on his face before Meta Knight’s sabatons. 

“On one condition.”

Marx grumbled something unintelligible and almost assuredly crude into the floorboards, pushing himself up by his claws to glower coldly up at the knight. Meta Knight ignored the look, staring him down intently with the tomato still held out of range. 

“You promise to keep quiet and wait patiently for Kirby to wake up.”

Marx evaluated Meta Knight, and the tomato, and the puffball in question still sleeping soundly away on the couch. A moment of silence passed between the two as the gears in his brain turned. 

“Fine, but the moment he wakes up I'm getting some answers around here. Got it?” He finally retorted, gesturing with his claws for the tomato. Meta Knight, mollified by the terms, nodded and placed the fruit in the waiting talons. 

The difference between before and after the exchange of the tomato was akin to the difference of night and day. Marx sprung up in midair like a jack in the box, almost letting out a loud whoop before he caught himself, or rather before Meta Knight caught him, and, slowly, almost comically, began rewinding and placed himself gently back onto the floor. He backed up a few steps with his eyes trained on the knight, watching for any signs of impending anger or disciplinary action. Once he was sure he wasn't about to get smacked or stabbed, Marx quickly retreated to a corner of the room, rapidly and rudely snarfing the tomato down. 

Meta Knight magnanimously ignored the poor table manners and gave the jester some space to eat, returning his attention to Kirby. Maybe now he could try to tend to the star warrior’s wounds more properly, now that he could trust Marx wouldn't try to stab either in the back - metaphorically or literally. At least… not for the time being. 

In all honesty, there was no assurance Marx would play nice anymore once he had the information he wanted. Meta Knight hoped this wouldn't be the case - he really did not want to deal with Marx picking a fight while everything else was going on. They couldn't afford it, especially with what an unknown element the jester had become. For while he was no longer the cosmically powered abomination Kirby had described, it was clear Marx’s wish for power continued to have some effect on him regardless. 

Meta Knight eyed the golden wings on the other’s back warily, multicolored scales shifting and reflecting different colors of the rainbow as Marx moved. He had never seen such wings before, but Meta Knight could only feel a wariness whenever he looked at them. Maybe it was their unusual structure, or the origin of their creation to begin with, but he knew they were a sign of just how dangerous Marx had become - and in all likelihood still was. 

Meta Knight sighed, returning his attention to Kirby, sleeping as peacefully as a noddy, unperturbed by the world around him.  
Oh Kirby, he mused. What have you gotten us into this time…?


	2. Fireplaces are not where your boots go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kirby wakes up, and Marx tries to get some answers from someone he knows is too much of a goody-two-shoes to lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like naming the chapters after the lighter-hearted moments in these parts and that's pretty sexy of me I think.   
> Content warnings:  
> Death talk continues; ptsd and panic attacks also continue to be a thing; there is also talk implying Kirby also probably has some ptsd and other issues; also he gets given a scare; Kirby is no longer super injured but is now going to say a lot of Poyos, be warned

Chapter 2

By the time Kirby awoke, Marx himself had since fallen asleep once more, mostly due to boredom and a full tummy. He eventually found himself roused from dreamless sleep by gentle murmurings coming from another corner of the room, the sound of a fire crackling gently in the hearth all the while. He felt somewhat at ease knowing he was able to definitively recognize his surroundings this time. Even in the minimal warm lighting of the fireplace, when all other light had long since given way to the shadows of night, Marx could still tell that what he had woken to was the same ivory paint on the corner of a bland, ivory wall in the bland ivory room that he had fallen asleep in. 

Sitting up from his spot on the floor, stretching out his wings from their crumpled state - a side effect of flopping unceremoniously backwards to sleep - he turned his attention to the two orbs sitting on the sofa that appeared to be in the midst of a serious, if hushed, debate. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but something told him it was most likely about him. Might as well get involved in the fun. 

“So, can I get any explanation on what the dark is going on yet, or what,” he posited into the room, directed at neither puff in particular yet simultaneously being a pointed jab at each one. The two paused their discussion and turned their attention to the jester sitting on the floor. Meta Knight gave a muted sigh of frustration paired with a scowl obvious even from under his mask, but looked to Kirby for next steps. The latter nodded, and the former turned to face Marx.

“Yes, Marx; we will now try to answer your questions as best we can. But please understand that-”  
“Yeah yeah, look, I don't care what you think, Mick, I was mostly hoping to get the story from Kirby since he's the one who's been holding out on me,” Marx walked right up to Kirby while shoving a dismissive golden claw towards Meta Knight, who for his part appeared too busy being deeply troubled and confused by the nickname to really register Marx’s rudeness. 

“Alright Kirby, you owe me some answers.”

“Po?”

“Yeah you- of course you do! Like what am I doing in your house??”

“Pa-poyo po, Ma-po poyopoppo popo.”

“I do too have a house! What, didn't you think to ask anyone where I lived?” 

“Po.”

“Well, sir metal lunkhead’s sitting right over there! I bet he keeps a spreadsheet of where everyone in Dreamland lives, why didn't you ask him?”

“Meda, poyo poyo po?”

Meta Knight looked resolutely away from Kirby, determined not to get embroiled in this mess. Marx groaned, pressing his face into his claws. As Kirby had turned his attention to Meta Knight it became apparent that things were getting derailed fast. He dragged his claws down his face as he tried to reorient his thoughts. 

“Ok, look, that's- never mind, that's not what I wanted to know. Let's start over.”

Marx took a deep breath to steady himself as he felt Kirby’s blue eyes focus on him with their inquisitive gaze once more. 

“How long since… How long have I been gone?”

The question hung in the air for a moment. Marx stared hard at Kirby, searching for any indication of what was going on in the little marble’s head as the seconds passed. Kirby's brow furrowed, almost as if in concentration, before he finally answered. 

“Po-poyo.”

Marx felt like his heart stopped. 

A few years….? 

“Ha… haha, good one Kirby. You almost had me there. There's no way it's been that long,” Marx cracked a shaky grin, even as he felt like something inside him was thrumming, everything starting to pulse and vibrate within him. Something felt out of sync inside him, tilted irreparably by these words. 

Kirby tilted his head at Marx, perplexed by the other’s reaction. 

“Puh-ppoyo?” 

“Of course not! I mean, c’mon, you've barely even aged a day, not to mention there's no way I would have survived this long if that were the case, I mean. What's there to eat in space!” He forced himself to laugh, though even ordinarily he would have found little humor in the concept. Now, he was clinging to the hopes that it was a joke with everything he had. He'll find it funny, so long as it won't be true…! 

“Poyoyo-po.”

Marx flinched at his words. 

“Didn't sur- But I'm right here! I'm living, I'm breathing, I'm kicking! Man Kirbs, if this is a prank you and Metal Can came up with, then you two suck at knowing when it's time to lay off--”

“Ma-po…”

“I’M NOT DEAD!!!!”

The shriek ripped from his mouth as abruptly for Marx as it did for Kirby and Meta Knight. The echoes beat against his eardrums violently, threatening to drown everything else out. Marx stood, breathing heavily, wings flared, as his body quaked. Every breath felt like it raked against his throat, rough and ragged. 

In the moment Marx shrieked, Kirby flinched backwards, tears welling up in his eyes, and Meta Knight instinctively placed himself between the two. He now stood watching Marx warily, his cape unfurled into his own set of bat wings and a hand hovering over the sword at his side, the other in front of Kirby to keep him back. Marx’s eyes darted between him and Kirby, pinpricks of red flashing with anger and panic as he shivered violently from his emotions clearly hitting a boiling point. Kirby slid off the couch and inched closer to Meta Knight with a slight whine, watching Marx fearfully for his next action. 

The standoff lasted for several long moments, the fireplace crackling and popping quietly underneath the tension. Finally, when the shudders had stopped, and his breathing began to quiet down, Marx spoke, his voice almost impossibly weak compared to before, barely audible above the sounds of the fire behind him. 

“If… If I died… then how the dark am I here now? How did I get back here to this forsaken voidpit.”

Kirby nudged Meta Knight aside gently, giving him a look. His eyes were still watery, but his expression was resolute. Meta Knight hesitated, but dutifully backed down, stepping out from betwixt them, wings folding back down against himself. He kept his hand over his sword, watching Marx carefully for any indications of danger. Kirby took a step towards Marx even as the jester seemed to instinctively flinch back. 

“Pa-poyo po, pippo poyo po. Poyo poyo popo, Ma-po poyoyo.” 

Marx stood still as a statue, eyes darting in thought as he stared at nothing, mouth agape as he collected his thoughts to speak. 

“...So Meta Knight was right. You really don't know when I came back or how. You just… found me in the fields outside,” he chuckled ruefully, although neither Kirby nor Meta Knight were clear on what it was directed at. Kirby nodded in confirmation, maintaining eye contact with Marx all the while as he waited for his next action.

Meta Knight disliked having to stay on the sidelines for this, but couldn't help but admire Kirby’s ability to keep a cool head even at a time like this. Meta Knight’s strength lay not in diplomacy, but in honorable battle, and this discussion was not his battlefield. Marx made it quite clear he would hear none of it from Meta Knight, and interjecting now could risk a flare up in his unstable behaviors. 

Nonetheless, he couldn't help but feel a certain sadness, watching a child behave so diplomatically with what was potentially a volatile enemy. It was a fact of life for Kirby, to face such danger and such erratic behaviors from others turned on him, and as a result he was well practiced at knowing how to handle a conversation with them. But that prior experience only served to make it more worrisome to think what effect it would all have on him in the long term - moreso when the knight reflected on his own contributions, or in this case the lack thereof, on the matter. 

Meta Knight decidedly pushed away that train of thought; it served no purpose in the present moment in dealing with Marx. Instead, he kept his eyes on the jester, who seemed to have withdrawn in on himself somewhat, wings slowly curling protectively around him as a rare look of candid sorrow crossed on his face. 

“Perhaps,” Meta Knight finally spoke, hesitating a moment as Marx’s glare hardened his features once more, all attention trained on the knight. He pressed on, removing his grip on the handle of his sword to hold both hands out, palms up in an offering of peace. 

“Perhaps… We should turn in for the night. It's been a long day for everyone, and regardless of what we all do next, we'll need the rest,” Meta Knight spoke more gently. Marx’s expression softened a little, still wary as his eyes searched the knight for some sign of trick, but was distracted when Kirby next spoke up. 

“Ma-po, poyo poyo poppo,” he said, gesturing with a nubby paw to the jester, and then the bed. Marx looked stunned by the offer. 

It wasn't a surprise. He barely seemed able to comprehend why Kirby had invited him in in the first place - being offered to stay the night, in Kirby's only bed, no less, surely sounded as foreign a concept as the inner workings of Galactic Nova to him.

Although, Meta Knight mused with a bitter smile to himself, perhaps Marx would feel more familiar with that, than his former enemy offering him a place to sleep. 

Marx hesitated, staring at the proffered hand like Kirby was trying to hand him a bug out of the blue, before his expression resolved into one of its more usual vaguely put-upon looks.  
“I guess it's the least you could do for me,” he pouted, looking away as his wings folded back behind him more. Meta Knight quirked an eyebrow at him, but said nothing. 

“Then, if that's settled… Come, Kirby. Let's get you set up, too.”

“Pa-poyo yo….”

“I know you're not that tired, you did just get plenty of rest earlier. However, you're still growing and surely still recovering from your run-in with that general earlier. It's important you at least try, tonight.” 

Kirby sagged, looking crestfallen, but plodded back to the couch and hopped dutifully into his blanket nest without further argument, much to Meta Knight’s relief. Sometimes he had quite the stubborn streak, and after everything this evening Meta Knight wasn't entirely sure he was up to handling a tantrum over the issue. Even so, he couldn't help but fret a little bit - the fact Kirby gave in so easily may have been a sign the puff wasn't quite back to 100%. 

As Meta Knight helped Kirby with getting settled on the couch, tucking him in under the blankets, he became aware of the fact that Marx was still standing there off to the side, watching them contemplatively. He looked up from his precise tucking, pretending to be unaware. 

“Is there something you need help with, Marx?”

Marx started, the scales on his wings flashing briefly as they flared out from behind him automatically, and deliberately looked away from the knight’s curious gaze. 

“Wh-no, of course not! Just - warming my wings up by the fire, that's all!” He stammered, taking a few definite steps back towards the fireplace. Meta Knight watched him uneasily, a bit concerned that he was going to fall backwards into it, but he definitely stopped short of doing so, his clunky brown boots pressed up to the edge of the pit. 

Meta Knight stared at him for a moment as Marx nervously stared back, noting that the latter started getting squirmy as his wings were almost assuredly on the verge of being singed from the proximity to the flame. But Marx held his ground, staring him down, until finally Meta Knight turned away again with a discreet roll of his eyes. 

“Very well then, if you’re certain,” he sighed, resuming his tucking job, for Kirby had begun squirming out from under the blankets in the interim, and as a result was undoing his hard work. Meta Knight feigned total focus in his work as Kirby began giggling at something (almost assuredly a sign that a very rude tongue was being stuck out at the knight’s back about now), before the telltale clunking of oversized boots told him Marx had given up on the charade and was retreating to the much cooler safety of Kirby’s bed. Smiling to himself, Meta Knight took one final moment to fluff up Kirby’s pillow, before gently petting the puff on the head. 

“There, that should do it. Rest up now, the both of you. I'll keep watch outside for any signs of the Jambastion’s army.”

“Meda-po, poyyo?”

“I will sleep, do not worry. But it's best to remain vigilant while you two rest up. I'll make sure to get some sleep once dawn breaks,” he gave Kirby a reassuring pat, before pulling away from the couch. He gave Marx a respectful nod, and upon receiving a befuddled look in return, took his leave. 

“Have a good night, you two. May the blessings of the galaxy smile upon you,” he murmured as he stepped into the cool chill of night, shutting the door behind him.


	3. Beach Ball Billiards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marx decides to finally open up to Kirby, be a little something called 'candid' for once in his life. Maybe have the wild experience known as "feelings" even. Who knows!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're reading this, then that means you've survived 2020! It was such a hard year for so many of us, I just want you to know I'm proud of you for making it this far and hope that you, like Marx, will have your chance to rise from the ashes, and get a fresh start. 
> 
> Content warnings:  
> Still some talk of death in passing, some subtle nods to implied trauma (child abuse), but mostly just that sappy ooc bonding moment this fic was created for.

As grey ribbons of light began to streak their way across the sky, reflected mutely off of the dew on the leaves, barely penetrating through the windows of all Dreamlanders’s homes, Marx found himself staring up at a ceiling slowly coming more and more into definition. He hadn't been able to sleep after all of that, and instead lay uselessly in a bed too comfortable, in a home too warm, of a heart too welcoming. When boredom didn't give way to sleep, as it often did for him, Marx had instead let his thoughts wander.

He had ended up spending most of the night studying his wings, tilting and turning them in the minimal light offered by dying embers in the fireplace, by the stars and the moon outside. The way they reflected light, the hook of his talons, the way those weird hexagonal scales dully glowed in the dark, mutating from one color to the next in slow pulses. At first, he pondered what they were even made of - they felt as natural to control as his feet did, but looked so alien, so foreign, and their metallic sheen made him wonder if they were even organic at all.

Maybe Galactic Nova was trying to reinvent me in its image, he mused with a snort. Yet, the thought gave him pause.  
With the thoughts of Galactic Nova, came thoughts of the battle. The battle that, according to Kirby, happened several years ago. But for Marx it felt like only yesterday.

Only yesterday since he tricked the sun and moon.

Only yesterday since he tricked Kirby to summon Galactic Nova.

Only yesterday since he wished to rule Popstar.

Only yesterday since Kirby had thoroughly bested him, leaving him floating out there, in space, to die among the remaining scraps of Nova’s husk, and the countless stars that shone faintly in the distance.

And now… Now Kirby had given him a place to stay. To sleep. To recover. Someplace safe.

The transition felt too sudden. Too abrupt.

Several years would explain the change in behavior from the pink puffball though. That would probably be long enough for someone as sappy as him to forgive and be willing to forget. But it didn't explain why he left Marx out there like that in the first place, not even willing to try to bring him back to Popstar. Not that Marx blamed him; in his shoes he would have done the same. But he wouldn't turn around and welcome Kirby so readily into his own home after, no matter how much time had passed.

Marx recalled a particular comment from Meta Knight, and flinched despite himself, vaguely aware that the wing scales in front of his vision began flashing erratically as the thought hit him like a boulder to the face.

Kirby told them all about his death.  
It sounded quite absolute.

He hated the thought of it. He hated to think of what that meant about his existence now. And yet… That would explain it.  
Kirby wasn't welcoming a former foe into his home… He was welcoming back someone he thought he'd failed to save. Someone he thought he'd lost, due to his own actions. Marx returning was Kirby’s salvation from that, and of course the kid clung on tightly to it.

It felt like claws were digging themselves deep into Marx’s heart at this realization, twisting and grinding their way into the core, threatening to rend it to shreds.

He didn't like this. He never asked for this. He didn't ask to be the answer to someone's guilt.

Decisively, Marx sat up in bed. Day was breaking now, birds outside beginning to sing their songs from the trees outside. Dream Land was beginning to wake up.  
Marx needed space to breathe, to get away from all of this. He felt like he was suffocating.

Slowly, he slid out of bed, creeping as carefully as he could past the couch to the door. He winced with every squeak or creak his shoes made against the wooden floor, but thankfully the pink puff sleeping on the couch barely stirred, even when Marx nearly tripped on a corner of the fireplace bricks with a muffled yelp.

Making it to the door, with Kirby only rolling over in response, Marx carefully cracked the door open, keeping an eye out for Meta Knight. He wasn't sure if Meta Knight would stop him, per se, but it would definitely involve a conversation and Marx could not handle that right now.

At first he didn't see the knight anywhere nearby, but the jester didn't dare assume the coast was clear. Still, it wasn't until he peered out a little further and saw the knight wrapped up in his cape like a bat, apparently sleeping while standing under a tree a little ways away, that Marx felt confident enough that he could sneak out without issue. Thank Nova, he really didn't want to talk to that walking talking can of nonsense right now.

Taking a few strides away from the house and the snoozing knight, feeling the morning air against his face, Marx felt a sudden rush of adrenaline - a need for escape, fueled further by the exhilaration of the outdoors - and broke out into a run for a nearby hilltop. As he ran towards the hill, his wings automatically stretched out behind him, flapping in time with his steps, and before he knew it Marx was taking off into the air, soaring somewhat clumsily up to the top. He flailed a little in the air as he belatedly realized what was happening, seeing the grass under his feet zooming past as he picked up speed. In his momentary panic, he ended up flubbing the landing and falling facefirst into the dirt. He shook it off without issue, straightening up to stand, gasping for breath from the exertion and adrenaline. When he opened up his eyes, however, he found that for a moment his breath was taken away just as quickly as it had returned.

The battle, the defeat, the wish… Those all felt like it happened only yesterday. But the sight of a Dream Land sunrise, the gradient of colors, the soft clouds floating lazily by…? Something about it felt nostalgic. How long had it been since he had seen this gorgeous sky from the ground and not from far above the planet…?

His eyes started to prickle, and he shook his head vigorously. No! None of that! He gave an indignant flap of his wings in self-scolding, and the motion made it really fully click in his head, that he had taken flight without really meaning to. He had been too absorbed in just getting away, and then by the sudden need to navigate flight mechanics in midair, that he didn't really have any time to stop and think about it. Eager for the distraction from… Feeling things… Marx evaluated his wings again with a new perspective.

His wings were a carryover from the wish he had made. They were in his control, but also moved the way they were meant to, like it came second nature to him. As proved by his impromptu morning flight, he barely had to think about flying to do it.

Could he perhaps tap into the other powers he'd gained from Nova just as easily…?

* * *

It didn't take Kirby long to sort out where Marx went, once he woke up fully. He had sort of been roused by the heavy-footed jester’s parting noises, but it was the familiar sound of his unique wings flapping that fully woke the puffball up. Admittedly it had given Kirby a bit of a startle, as his brain pulling up memories of their infamous battle first. However, he soon recalled the events of the last day or so and relaxed once more, reassured he wasn't in any immediate danger.

Rolling off of the couch with a little bounce, Kirby righted himself, gave as big a stretch as an orb only could, and decided to follow after Marx. He wasn't sure why, but something about the jester’s expressions during their conversations made Kirby feel like he needed to talk to him alone, without Meta Knight. Not that Meta Knight had seemed all that partial to being involved. It would just be easier for everyone if he sat this one out.

No... that wasn't entirely the reasoning for why Kirby was going after Marx alone. These reasons helped him feel better about stepping out into the dew covered grass, following the sound of erratic bouncing noises in the distance, without so much as a word to the knight dozing lightly a little ways away. But Kirby, deep down, just wanted a chance to talk to Marx by himself. He had so many questions. So much he wanted to say. So much he wished he had understood before their fateful battle.

By the time Kirby crested the hill, letting out an intentionally indiscreet yawn, Marx was surrounded by an entire ocean of beach balls, and looked as though he had been ready to take off into the air before he turned around to face Kirby, his face glistening with sweat.

“Oh, Kirby! You're up! Hey, listen, check this out, I can make an endless amount of beach balls, watch--”

Kirby opened his mouth to speak, but Marx had already launched off of the ground, shooting straight up into the air with a rapid spiraling motion. Kirby watched as the jester slowed to a stop, cheeks puffing up big and round, and instinctively Kirby hopped back as Marx spat out a projectile speeding to the ground at high velocity. Kirby flinched and squeezed his eyes shut as the ball slammed into the ground in front of him, before it bounced harmlessly off to get lost among the throng of beach balls.

Marx lowered gently back onto the ground, his wings folding behind him as a grin far too wide was plastered across his face.

“Gross, huh? I don't even know where they're coming from!!” He said with a bit of a snicker in his voice.

Kirby stared at him, a little dumbfounded.

“Ma-po, Poyo…”

Marx blinked at him before snorting.

“What, did you think I was gonna leave, or shoot you or something? Nah, there's no point now. Well, ok I'll probably leave, but not yet. There's something I wanted to clear up first.”

Kirby tilted his head at him, confused by the change in demeanor. Marx looked into Kirby’s eyes, opening his mouth to speak, but as he really looked at Kirby, he found that he couldn't stop himself from averting his eyes, and turning away.

“Wait, hang on. This is uh. A lot harder than I was rehearsing in my head…” he grimaced, still looking away. Kirby stared at his back for a moment, before taking the chance to speak up.

“po-ppaiyo po po?” He asked, stepping up next to Marx’s side, hesitantly looking over at the jester. Marx turned his gaze down to the ground, nudging a beach ball with the toe of his boot.

“...It's just that, I uh, I gave what you guys told me a lot of thought. It's. it's hard. It's hard to believe. That I died. I mean, I'm just, I'm right here, on a hill in Dream Land, with all these kooky new abilities, and I can still feel the wind on my face or see the sunrise and just…”  
Marx stopped himself, taking in a deep breath.

“I mean… It can't be a dream, right? I mean… Dead people don't. They don't dream… So this’s gotta be real.”  
Kirby considered this, sitting down in the grass as he stared thoughtfully at the sunrise. It was certainly sound reasoning. He couldn't argue that.

“Ma-po, poppo?”

Marx did a double take, before trying to pretend he hadn't looked over at all.  
“I, uh. Heh. Yeah, I should be, shouldn't I…? You botched up my plans, and beat me up good, and then have the audacity to tell me I died…?”

“Poppapi?”

“Just like, you had the guts, don't focus on that, that's not the important bit. Anyways.. I should be mad, huh. I mean. I think I kinda am. You were the one who killed me after all, you know.”

Kirby deflated a little. It was true, but hearing it like that stung. A lot. Marx continued.

“But… I don't… I don't think I'm really mad at you. I don't know who I am mad at. Or what. But it's not you, not really,” he admitted, kicking a beach ball away. He snorted despite himself as he watched it set off a chain reaction of balls exploding off of the ground and into each other like some sort of weird billiards game.

Kirby didn't really pay attention to the chaos, too distracted by his thoughts. As the beach ball cacophony slowed to a stop before them, he proceeded to stare up at Marx, as the latter grimaced.

“Ugh, I didn't really want to get so feelsy with you of all people. But, you did give me a place to sleep, and it was kinda comfy too, so. I guess think of that as a thanks, sort of,” he huffed, focusing on watching the sunrise. Kirby studied Marx for a moment. He opened his mouth to speak, and hesitated. Marx noticed, and interjected before he had the chance to gather his poyos.

“I hope you aren't thinking about doing something lame like saying sorry to me or whatever.”

Kirby frowned at him, taken aback.

“Poyyo?”

Marx snorted.

“I tricked you, and was gonna kill you when you tried to stop me. What's there for you to apologize for?”

“Po-ppoyo… pa-poyo Ma-po poppo, po po…”

“And I would have done the same without hesitation.”

Kirby stared at Marx, not following. Marx rolled his eyes in thought, trying to sort out how to explain it in a way Kirby would understand.

“Look.. You're like, the hero of Dream Land or whatever. Or were anyways, I don't know what the dark has happened since I was gone. But like, you had to stop me. I was otherwise unstoppable. Yeah, it sucks but like.. I'm still here? Or came back. Something. Point is… Who cares? If anything I'm just glad you didn't hold back, that woulda been insulting.” He grinned cockily, clearly recalling something from their battle.

Kirby stared down at his shoes. That didn't sound right. But he didn't know what to say to explain that. He didn't even fully know why it didn't sound right.

“Look, just… Isn't it your whole schtick, to let bygones be bygones or whatever? So you let that King guy do whatever he wants again and again, you let knight dumbmuffin get in your way constantly. All I'm saying is, this can be a bygone too,” Marx sighed with a shrug of his wings, taking a seat next to Kirby.

“Medapo po-poiyo?”

“Yeah ok, dumbmuffin was weak even for me. I've been dead for several years, whaddaya want from me,” Marx snarked, giving a lopsided smirk as he nudged Kirby with a wing playfully. Kirby rolled with it, letting himself rock to the side before gently rocking back in place.

“Ma-po… Poppoiyyo popo?”

Marx said nothing for a moment, remaining still. Kirby thought he could see the other’s jaw clench for a moment, his facial features tightening. For a moment Kirby was worried he was going to do one of those shrieks again, like from the night before. Instead, Marx took a deep breath in before heaving a sigh, keeping his eyes fixed on the sky.

“I think I'm gonna have to be ok with it, twinkletoes.”

The two sat for a few minutes in silence, watching the clouds pass lazily over their heads against a sky slowly but surely lightening up to its standard pale blue before their eyes.

Marx didn't know what he was doing. He still didn't even want to believe Kirby, let alone be nice to him, and yet all this sentimental garbage kept pouring out of his mouth. Even so… When he'd glance over to the puff out of the corners of his eyes, he could see Kirby as the vulnerable child he was, rather than the famous hero of Dream Land everyone gushed over. Why hadn't he noticed it before?

He knew why. If anything, he probably did see it back then, too. No. He definitely did. Seeing everyone gush over the little squirt had driven him nuts before everything fell out. He wanted the kid taken down a peg. What did he do to deserve all that admiration?  
During the fight, though, he hadn't been as prepared to see what happened when Kirby got hit at first. It hurt, to see that vulnerability in someone so young firsthand. It hit too close. It drove him wild. To see someone that small and defenseless, and yet still able to stand up to someone older like him. At the height of his power no less. Not just stand up to him, but beat him. Just like that.

It broke into a part of him he thought he had sealed away a long time ago, and he couldn't stand it.

It still did. It still hurt. Marx wasn't sure if something about their fight mellowed it out, or if he was just mature enough to see it now. He was going to probably just blame it on his evidently dying. But now, it wasn't in spite of how it hit so close, but because of it that he now felt the way he did… He didn't want to get mad at Kirby. He didn't want to fight him anymore. He just felt guilty for even thinking about it now. It didn't stop him from thinking about it, but it was enough to stop him from acting on those thoughts this time around.

The puff just wanted to be everyone's friend. He knew this. It was a well-known fact in Dream Land.

And everyone included Marx. Marx wasn't entirely sure he wanted that. But Kirby didn't deserve getting beat up for it either. He didn't deserve to get beat up for trying to do something right.

Unfortunately, Marx found that line of thinking kept leading him back to the same dilemma, and with it, a concerning conclusion. He stared towards the mountain range, the ominous tower of the Jambastion still visible from where he and Kirby currently sat. From what Meta Knight had said, those mooks didn’t care why Kirby was doing what he was. They were gonna beat the kid up no matter what.

He was gonna regret it. He was gonna say something and he was gonna regret it. But the idea of that thing just staying there, its owners terrorizing Dream Land or whatever, when he just got back, made his skin crawl.

“Hey, uh.”

He halted, trying to figure out how to say it without coming across as too invested.

“You know, um. Meta Knight kinda, he sorta told me about your whole deal with that jam base or whatever it's called, I guess they're giving you trouble? Anyways, I guess I could give you my help, if you really wanted it,” he stammered, kicking himself internally for even offering. Kirby’s eyes grew as big and sparkly as those of an animal in a classic Disney movie.

“Poyo?” He asked, leaning forward towards Marx. Marx gulped, regretting the offer already.

“Yeah, but uhhh! On one condition!” He held up a wing talon in front of Kirby’s face.

“You've gotta give me food in return! No food, no help!”

There, that oughta do it, he thought to himself. Knowing how much Kirby liked food, this clause probably would make the deal unpalatable for the puff to accept, without Marx feeling obligated to help no strings attached. His help didn't come that easy after all, he still had his pride---

“Po-poyo!! Paiyo, Ma-po!” Kirby beamed at him.

Oh.

Oh, void.

He just agreed to it, didn't he. And thanked Marx for it, no less.

Marx gave a crooked grin, unable to believe what he just signed himself up for.

“O-oh. Wait, seriously?”

“Paiyo!”

“Oh.”

A beat.

“Uhh… Cool! Then I guess, as proof of your agreement to my terms, you owe me some breakfast!”

“Paiyo!!”

Oh, well. Things could be worse, Marx mused, watching Kirby excitedly lead him down the hill back to his home. At least this way he wouldn't have to worry about where his next meal was coming from. Or, if he was totally honest with himself… About the safety of a certain persistent pink doughball.


End file.
